


Courting Him

by DarlingDearestDemonic



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Body Worship, Bottom Will Graham, Choking, Consensual Sex, Explicit Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, M/M, No Plot/Plotless, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Smut, canon compliant I think
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-09
Updated: 2020-08-09
Packaged: 2021-03-06 05:28:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,820
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25798174
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarlingDearestDemonic/pseuds/DarlingDearestDemonic
Summary: In which Will and Hannibal satisfy a...professional....curiosity.
Relationships: Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Comments: 2
Kudos: 68





	Courting Him

**Author's Note:**

> tv show: ok so will and Hannibal have dinner, right -  
> me: oh so you mean time for me to write a gay sex fic bcuz all the tension, right?  
> tv show: well yes but no  
> me: done

"Do you want to have sex with me, Doctor Lecter?"

Will had a peculiar way of saying things. In his head, Hannibal called it the Bunny Nose effect. Will tended to twitch his nose and blink rapidly when he was steeped in thought, or on the verge of realization. Hannibal understood what caused such a personable tic, of course. Will's version of reality did not often coincide with the way things really were (except where a murder was involved.) The task of reconciling, of relaying, what happened in his head to the world around him was difficult. Will's Bunny Nose effect was the product of him trying to clarify the two images before him, in the same way that one may blink their tears away to see better.

"Would it satisfy some...professional curiosity?" Will continued.

Ah, and there it was. The hesitancy, the abrasive pauses in speech. Hannibal could have smiled; indeed, he felt the corners of his lips move ever so slightly. Will's predictability was, in a way, comforting to him. He could read him like a book - no, read him as well as he could read his own thoughts. He could anticipate him, reach his conclusions before he did. And yet, this shared mental tenancy of theirs did not bore him. It (curious to think!) endeared Will to him.

Hannibal realized then that he had been staring at Will for a rather long time, something that he knew made Will severely uncomfortable. He withdrew his gaze, picked up his fork, and set it neatly back down upon its place on a napkin. Such a small move was intentional: its purpose was to momentarily divert the attention from their conversation to the fork itself. A smooth lapse in tension followed. There was a slight loosening of shoulders on both ends.

Hannibal was a master of such nuances.

"Yes," he said simply, not specifying which question he was answering.

Will blinked, jerked his chin to the left, and then brought it back to center as if contemplating shaking his head. But he hadn't, not fully. What was it that had caused such a negative initial reaction: the thought of sex with Hannibal, or Hannibal's blunt agreement to it?

And then, what was it that had caused the non-completion of the head shake, what had been seen as agreeable: again, the thought of sex with Hannibal, or his blunt agreement to it?

Not seeing any further signs of aversion in Will, Hannibal stood up and removed his tie slowly. Will watched him from beneath downcast eyes as the fabric uncoiled itself slowly from Hannibal's neck, its liquidy silk texture licking the bristles on Hannibal's chin. Hannibal walked towards him, eyes dark but deadset, his jaw pushed slightly to the side as the tie brushed his cheek.

The removal of the tie seemed like an afront: a strange break in character from Hannibal's lust for social niceties.  _ Was it something I said _ , Will was on the verge of saying when suddenly the tie was around his neck. He choked and stuttered, and was just barely able to hook his fingers between the tie and his skin before Hannibal began to pull on both ends of the tie. Everything about Hannibal became magnified at that moment: the sheer size of him against Will's back, the dampness of his breath, the powdery smell of his hair. Hannibal gave a small, sharp exhale and yanked his grip upwards. The tie jerked upwards on Will's neck, this time cutting into the crease beneath his jaw and the top of his neck.

"Don't-" spit sprayed from his mouth and he could say nothing else. His head was beginning to throb, his vision began to wiggle and pulse. But all he could think about was Hannibal: the muscles bulging in the man's arm, the quick outtakes, and intakes of his breath, the knuckles turning pale behind him - all parts of Hannibal set to kill.

And then, just like that, Hannibal let him go.

Will flung himself to the floor for no reason other than to put distance between himself and Hannibal lest Hannibal tried to hurt him again.

"What...what did...why…" he stuttered helplessly. He reached back for his gun and was startled when he found that it wasn't there. Hannibal, unaffected as always, wrapped the tie neatly around his palm and placed its coiled mass on the table, then retrieved Will's gun from the inside of his jacket and placed that besides the tie.

"How does it feel, Will, to be alive?" Hannibal asked, continuing their little subliminal game of first-name, last-name basis. He circled Will much like a hound would circle its vulnerable prey, noting and relishing the dynamic between Will's grounded figure and his own towering height. "To feel the blood rushing through your body, to feel your heart pumping in desperation as it faces the potential of its demise?" Hannibal knelt slowly on one knee and allowed himself to survey Will's damp face. Even in his moments of distress, there was something so… delectable about the shape of Will's face. It was symmetrically pleasing, adhering to a naturally occurring shape that was deemed holy during the time of the Italian Renaissance.  _ Very...David of Michelangelo _ , Hannibal decided. He ran his finger along Will's jawline, taking in the shape of his brows and gentle lips. Will, for his part, flinched and glanced at Hannibal's finger as if it were some exotic bird of heaven that had suddenly landed upon him. He became keenly aware of his heart in that moment (its retreating nervous stutterings) and the coolness of his even breath on his sweaty, hot skin. And he realized that he was disappointed by the comedown from his adrenaline rush. He jerked his hand up and placed it on the spot where the tie had sunk into his flesh, reveling in the heat leftover from the moment. He closed his eyes and allowed himself to relive it: the initial, the pressure, the potential, Hannibal. When he opened his eyes again Hannibal was staring deep into him, waiting for, or perhaps knowing, an answer.

"It feels amazing," Will said breathily, his hand still clutching his neck. And he realized, then, the purpose of the whole exercise, the goal of Hannibal's game: Hannibal wanted him to taste the euphoria brought on by a rush of adrenaline in turn caused by a near-death experience. And he wanted him to ask for it again.

"Do it," Will said, his teeth flashing in either a smirk or a grimace. Hannibal turned his head slightly, curiously.

"Would you like me to choke you again, Will? You are aware that, if I begin again, I may not stop."

Will shook his head, laughed slightly. "I think it's time we...satisfy that professional curiosity that we've both had for a while now."

Hannibal stared at him for a moment too long then, and neither man knew exactly what it was that had caused his hesitation. Then slowly, slowly, Hannibal drew closer to him until they were nose-to-nose: Hannibal looming, Will waiting, both maintaining a facade of passive interest. Then Hannibal pressed his lips against Will's softly, so softly, simply tasting him for a moment. Will was salt and taffy and dark soil and meat. Hannibal was saffron and smoke and linen and, strangely, bleach. They pressed into each other, bodies wound tighter, as they became enticed by each other's taste: tongues probed, fingers wandered, and it was the first, but not to be the last, time that primal intuition guided their hands. Will broke away, sighed, and eased himself back into the kiss. His hands found Hannibal's hair and he traced the shape of Hannibal's skull, such a solid yet fragile thing, until his fingers came to a point upon a strand of hair trailing down the back of Hannibal's neck.

Will knew that he was not to lead this dance. He allowed himself to be guided and shifted until he was laying on his back with his zipper being pulled down. He saw stars - no, it was simply the grains in the wooden beams of Hannibal's ceiling. He gasped at the cool wetness of Hannibal's mouth on the soft hairiness of his belly. Was he looking at black horns or the tender curl of Hannibal's ear?

He gasped and bucked his hips beneath Hannibal's touch, his mouth forming soundless words of mercy and pleasure.

When had he gotten on the couch?

He craned his neck upwards, dizzy, and saw that he had indeed been laid upon the cushions of Hannibal's living room couch. His shirt had been tucked upwards beneath his armpits and his pants had been pulled down, just enough to reveal the brown hairs curlicuing towards his cock, the base of his cock which was sliding against Hannibal's parted lips.

He moaned or mewed as Hannibal kissed his tip, he didn't know anymore. He closed his eyes, let his head fall back, and when he opened his eyes again he was naked and Hannibal's bare shoulders glinted beautifully in the dim living room firelight.

"Stay with me," Hannibal commanded through a wave of dissonance and Will realized that he must have been losing time again. He focused his eyes - blinked away the image of the Black Demon floating above him - and let himself be wound up by Hannibal's hands on his cock.

The sensation came in waves. Hannibal was edging him: bringing him close to orgasm then easing him away from it in turn. Will felt his heartbeat quicken and his breath hitch. He began to move his hips in time with Hannibal's strokes: Hannibal eased his hands towards the base of Will's cock, Will pushed his body up to meet them. Hannibal then stroked upwards, and Will pulled his hips downwards to increase the friction. He was whining now, Will, and trapped beneath Hannibal's expertise. He was dough being molded, a harpsichord being fingered…

The blood of prey intoxicating the predator.

Hannibal looked down at Will, a shadow of a smirk playing along his lips. He knew what Will was thinking as he lifted him from the couch and pressed their lips together, their erect cocks suddenly pressed together between slick and shifting thighs. He was thinking of the irony of their dynamic: how the bunny rabbit tantalized the coyote and didn't that give the bunny rabbit all the power? He could tell what Will was thinking by the sudden intensity of his mouth, the way that his nails now raked along Hannibal's shoulders. Hannibal hummed pensively at the feeling and let his head fall back for a minute, letting the novelty of the sensation spread itself along his body.

"You like that…" Will exhaled, not so much a question as it was a triumphant realization. For, in some unspoken way, Will had gained the upper hand by inciting pleasure within Hannibal.

"It is a...curious feeling," Hannibal said delicately. But of course, he couldn't let Will have the power for long.

Swift and unperturbed, he pushed a slack-jawed Will back down to the couch and rolled him onto his belly. It all took less than two seconds - but then there Will was: on his knees on the couch with the fingers of Hannibal's one hand gripping his neck and the fingers of the other hand inside of him.

"Nnngh...fuck!" Will didn't know what to say and his lack of coherence embarrassed him. He inhaled sharply and scrunched his eyes shut as the pads of Hannibal's fingers probed the right spot inside of him. He twisted his fingers in the cushion covers (how ungainly and undignified in Hannibal's presence) until a small  _ zipppp  _ could be heard as the fabric ripped.

"Yes…" Will breathed in exaltation as the firelight spread heat across his face, "yes yes yes yes yes."

He assumed that Hannibal was satisfied by his grasping and whimpering - or maybe he wasn't. The only thing that he could gauge Hannibal by was the rhythm of his fingering which he kept infuriatingly consistent.

"Now Will. I see that we've found ourselves at the crossroads." Hannibal removed all but his upturned pointer and index finger from inside Will and these he slid deeper into him. Will could have cried from pleasure, but instead made due with tensing the muscles in his legs. "I offer you the opening by which you may call a gracious, and honorable, defeat. And thus consider yourself sufficiently - and professionally satisfied. Or release yourself from the restraints of professionalism and grasp what it means to live again."

"No-" there it was, that intercepted head shake and twitch of the nose "-yes. I want it. Bad."

Hannibal leaned down, brushed his lips right up against Will's ear, and spoke as a God to his apostle. "I won't stop.'

Will tilted his chin up, blinded by passion and wild rage, and growled back, "Then what are you waiting for?"

When Hannibal entered Will again it was slow, torturously slow, and painful. Both men held their breath as Will's body took in every inch that Hannibal had to offer.

_ Fuck _ , Will wanted to say but Hannibal's fingers were wrapped around his jaw, forcing his mouth shut in a very ugly way. Will let his breath out in a sudden spray of spit and then sucked his lips in sharply when Hannibal was fully inside of him. The pleasure of anal penetration came only after the pain of fulfillment.

And by many standards, Will was quite fulfilled.

"Hannibal..." Will sighed, as if in disbelief.

"Will," Hannibal said. What was that, did Will detect a slight hitch in Hannibal's voice? A vocal fry indicating pure, unadulterated lust? Emboldened and humbled and weary, Will let his head come to rest on the armchair as Hannibal's hands now almost paternally gentle, guided Will's body back and forth, back and forth along his cock. There was no more pain - a dull ache, sure - but all Will could feel was the sensation of being filled, and then emptied, of ridges being ridden and his cock throbbing incessantly in response.

At some point, he ended up on top of Hannibal. Surprised but not wholly unsure of himself, he placed both hands on Hannibal's ankles and let his head fall back. He watched the ceiling rise and fall as he moved slowly, up and down, on Hannibal's body. He sighed happily, closed his eyes, rolled his head slowly upon his neck as he took pleasure and solace in the shape of another man.

Hannibal watched it all, knowing that Will had gone to a purely physical place. An oasis, and a symphony of sensation, that's what sex became when it reached this very specific point: the point where lovers conjoined and drifted, pushed away from each other by the purely animalistic need to be washed up in the response of stimuli. Hannibal was not easily taken to such a place, not even with Will, beautiful Will with his hair falling away from his face and lips parted in ecstasy and his chest broad, rolling. He held Will's hips and guided him, watched him, noticed everything. He was sacrificing his own pleasure for him: indeed he wanted to be fully present to bring Will to that point.

"How does it feel, Will, to be alive?" Hannibal asked in a rough voice, his fingers digging into Will's hips, his own hips churning and straining. Will's torso uncurled like a whip, his body tightened once, twice around Hannibal as he heaved. And then he unspooled himself all over Hannibal's chest, without a sound, just a stutter and a quick closing of eyes.

Who, really, holds the reins in such a scenario: the bunny, who courts the Coyote's lust, or the coyote, who courts the bunny's mortality?

Will dropped his head, breathing heavily, feeling the rumbling shock of an orgasm still rolling through him. He felt deflated and messy and satisfied, much as he had after Hannibal had choked him with his tie. It was all the same: the muscles bulging in the man's arm, the quick outtakes, and intakes of his breath, the knuckles turning pale behind him - all parts of Hannibal set to kill or satisfy or both.

The heat, the pressure, the potential. Hannibal.

When Will opened his eyes again, the Black Demon was looking up at him. He startled but did not move to remove the cock still buried inside of him. What blasphemy, he realized as the Demon raised itself on its elbows. What an unholy sin, he thought as he locked his lips with the Demon's. What a strange, strange reality. He wrapped his arms and legs around the Demon's body and let himself be kissed and guided onto his back again.

Besides them, the firelight glinted off of the two empty syringes laying behind a vase of flowers. In them was reflected the two men's' bodies: beautiful, glinting, magnetic, and harsh.


End file.
